


it could most definitely be worse

by followingthesky



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Idol Yuta, Jaemin and Yuta are brothers, Jaemin's back injury, M/M, NCT127 minus markhyuck plus Jeno, hockey players markhyuck, idol jeno, speed skater Jaemin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23835733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followingthesky/pseuds/followingthesky
Summary: Donghyuck whips out his phone, no doubt googling 'NCT127'. He scrolls for a minute, pausing and shoving the screen in Jaemin's face. "Think fast! Name."Jaemin squints at the image. "Taeyong. If not then it's Jaehyun.""Hopeless," the tanned boy laments. He returns to scrolling."Wait, so who was it?"He's ignored. Another photo. "Name."Ah, he knows this one. "Jeno.""My god, what is this favouritism?"He holds his hands up in defense. "Jeno's easy to spot. He's the hot one."Donghyuck inspects the photo. "You're not wrong, I suppose," he surmises, and Mark looks affronted.
Relationships: Background Markhyuck - Relationship, Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 45
Kudos: 166





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A looooong time ago I found out that Jaemin was a speed skater, and had a bunch of disparate scenes about a speed skater au sitting in my drafts (I checked, they've been there for 2 years). Decided, what the heck, time to pick it up again! Also disclaimer: I'm not familiar with the scheduling and intricacies of the winter games season, so just take everything at face value!
> 
> It's weird to be back to writing after a long break, my style has undoubtedly changed a lot and this fic is a little mish mash of past and present. But here it is, enjoy and please please stay safe everyone :)

Jaemin must be dreaming, because he doesn't feel any pain.

Everything else about the dream, though, is just so _vivid_. His breaths come short, heart pounding and muscles pumping as they propel him forward. It's cold, and he's skating fast, the wind biting against his cheeks and dry against his lips. A bend comes up and he rounds it. _One, two. One, two. Onetwo. Onetwo. Onetwoonetwoonetwo-_

His body tilts to accommodate the bend, and all at once the edges of his vision refract. He loses balance and he should be falling, but his body is weightless. Deafening cheers dull and recede. The ice crumples into itself, stiff surface softening to linen.

He cracks a bleary eye open and immediately winces, dawn accosting him through the too flimsy curtains. The crisp air from his dream fades to a muted staleness, and his breathing is slow, stable. He lets his chest rise a little further, air filling his lungs till his mouth opens in a yawn. The breath whooshes all out in a rush.

It's early, he notes dimly. He has no plans for the day, and he has full intentions of sleeping it away. Minutes pass, forearms coming up to shield the light, and he's just about successful until the familiar sliding sound of the door nudges him back.

 _The hell_ , he thinks.

“Ah, you’re awake!”

Great. He allows himself five more seconds with his eyes closed before moving to sit up, grunting with the movement. A knife twists in the small of his back, and his attending nurse immediately rushes to help him.

"Let me just pop over to help with that. Lovely morning by the way, Jaemin-ssi!" The chirpy voice is almost annoyingly shrill as the middle-aged lady busies herself with all the levers and switches at the side of his bed. Once he's propped up and comfortable, she maneuvers to his other side, gesturing to the broad windows. "I'm going to open the curtains, okay?"

He nods listlessly, looking away. With a satisfied hum, she tugs at the white lace and light floods the room. She squeals, and it's a piercing noise that grates at his eardrums.

" _What_ a beautiful day! So much sunlight and not a cloud in the sky. Not bad for fall, eh?" She spins around, beaming. Jaemin purses his lips, picks at the stray threads poking from the edge of his blanket.

It registers faintly that she's waiting for him to continue the conversation. Jaemin has nothing to say, continues fiddling with the threads. The awkward silence lasts about three seconds before she's rambling again.

"I'll be back in a few with your breakfast! If you need anything else, just press this button-" she gestures to his bedside remote not unlike the way a magician gestures to his rabbit right before he makes it disappear. "-To give me a holler. Once again, my name's Minhee, I'll be your personal nurse while you're here..." he tunes her out as she goes through the usual spiel. He already knows all this. Hear it once and never again, and all that. "Anyway, a month or so and you'll be starting rehab," she's saying. "How exciting!"

 _How exciting,_ his mind parrots without feeling. The woman makes her way to the door, and she raises an arm, fist pointed to the ceiling. "I'll be right by your side as you get back into tip-top shape! Fighting!"

The door slides shut. Jaemin sighs through his nose.

He knows he's just being bitter about the whole affair. There are definitely worse things in the world than a private room in Seoul's best sports hospital and an attending nurse who narrates her every move. It's a very nice room, too - baby blue walls, plush armchairs for visitors and a long, wooden table in the corner for the express purpose of holding get-well-soon bouquets and wreaths. It's overflowing again, even though he asked for the hampers to be distributed. He doesn't need those. He doesn't need gifts or flowers. He needs to get better, and to start skating again.

He looks out the window, and thinks about how much more alive he feels in his sleep than while awake.

"Thanks," he utters belatedly, into the silence.

.

.

The next two days pass without fanfare. Then:

“Jaemin-ssi, you have a visitor! Your brother’s here to see you. ”

Jaemin’s lips part in surprise. Promotions don't end for another month.

But there he is, suave as always, a hand in one of his jean pockets and platinum blonde hair peeking out underneath a red cap. He's got a huge Ryan plushie tucked under his other arm. Warm relief spreads through Jaemin's chest at the sight of him, but he rolls his eyes for show anyway.

He makes a little shooing motion at Minhee to give them some privacy, and Yuta eyes the interaction, pulling his black face mask down to his chin as the door slides shut behind her. He raises an eyebrow.

"You being a little brat to the staff?"

"Figured you were too busy to visit," Jaemin counters, but there's no bite to his words. He makes grabby hands for the plushie. "Couldn't be a brat to you instead."

"Brat," Yuta repeats, but he obliges. The plushie is big and soft in Jaemin's arms. He squeezes its head between his palms, watches it squish. "So how's you?"

"In pain," he replies bluntly. He busies himself with poking at Ryan's embroidered eyes. "But what's new. Oh right, maybe the fact that I can't move for the next _month_ ," he gives the right eye an aggressive poke, feels bad, then hastily smooths over it with his fingertips.

"Jaem."

"But other than that," he continues, louder with flair, "my long and arduous days in this blue prison cell have just been brimming with the joy and thrill of books, the occasional Nintendo switch game and the lovely screeching of my nurse. Two out of three courtesy of Mom and Dad. "

Yuta breathes deeply through nose, runs a hand through his hair. "I'm guessing the books were loaned from the hospital library?"

"Bingo." Jaemin's eyes roll to the ceiling. He hears Yuta's heels click on the tiled floor, watches as his brother collapses into a bedside armchair before speaking. "Hyung. I've spent a week here. Post-surgery. A week. They told me it'll be a month till I start rehab, and another five months after that before I can even step on the ice." He runs both hands over his face, the facade dropping into a tired tone. "I can't _breathe_ , hyung. Why now? Why _now_?"

"Don't I gotta know it." His brother leans forward in the armchair, eyebrows twitched upward. Now that he's close, his hyung's hair looks pinkish, like it was once rose gold. It's almost gone now though, pink fading to white. "You got injured," he says. "People get injured. Big deal, that's life. What's done is done, and all that jazz." He shakes his head, lips pursed in a _you reap what you sow_ sort of fashion. "You do rehab, move on." Jabs a finger to Jaemin's midsection, lips turning down into a frown. "But that ain't it, Jaem. It bothers me. It doesn't sound like you know what getting injured means."

Jaemin bristles. "The heck? Like I need to go through some course -"

"It _means_ something's got to change, dumbnut." Yuta interrupts without malice, and Jaemin shuts up. "Looks like you're raving to get back on the ice, without even bothering 'bout what got you injured in the first place. How are you gonna prevent this from happening again, huh?"

He's right, as usual. Jaemin huffs but says nothing, lets Yuta continue like some emo-punk church preacher.

"The fact stands that you were pushing yourself too damn hard. The doctors said an injury like yours takes years to get this bad. And I'm sorry I couldn't see it sooner."

"You couldn't have." The words come out kind of mean this time, but Yuta doesn't react.

"Only you'd know for sure," he says instead, and Jaemin hates how right he is. "Just take this time to figure it out, okay?"

Jaemin fixes his eyes on the table in the corner, on the piles of flowers arranged in neat bundles, the wreaths printed with bold words of sympathy and encouragement. "I know, hyung," he tries. He looks to the side, out the window, to the ceiling, trying to find the words. "You think I want to get injured on the regular? I _know_. I just - can we -" He lets out a frustrated sigh. "Can we drop it, please? I'd really like to talk about something else now." Scrambles for a new topic. "Why're you here anyway. I thought you couldn't visit till after your promotions."

Yuta snaps his fingers, makes an _ah_ sound. “Right. The guys send their well wishes, by the way.”

“You told them about me?”

“It’s not exactly a secret, my little dude,” Yuta says, and Jaemin lets his eyes drift and his lips purse because he knows its true.

“They said they’d like to visit, you know, once promotions end and they’re not dead on their feet.” There's an unspoken _I'm dead on my feet too but I still came because I care for my little brother_ in there, and Jaemin knows.

He's never met the rest of his brother's bandmates. Knows their names, of course. Watched all their music videos and some clips of other shows, when the thumbnails would occasionally pop up on his YouTube recommended page. “I don't even know them. They’d do that?”

"Course," Yuta smiles, proud. "They're caring guys."

He thinks about it. “That’s really nice of them,” he hums, a beat too late. “I don’t know if I’ll be in the right headspace to entertain, though.”

“Only if and when you’re up for it," Yuta says easily. "But it'd be something to look forward to. Maybe."

"True that," Jaemin snorts. "Like I have anything better to do."

"Gotta think about what I said."

"I know," he says again, and he's said it so many times today, he's beginning to feel like a broken record. He watches Yuta check the time on his phone, and he knows the idol has got to get moving soon. "Take one of those hamper things back to your dorm," he juts his chin to the table in the corner. "Share with the members. They've got like, healthy stuff in there or whatever. Your manager'll have a field day."

Yuta's eyes light up. "Nice," he peruses the rows, finds one that he likes. It's got orange flowers weaved into the basket.

He leaves with a two-fingered salute and a promise to return. Jaemin's thirsty from talking, so he feels for his remote and presses the button to call Minhee. She rushes in a minute later, eyes wide.

"Is your brother Yuta from NCT127?"

He glances at her, nods in acknowledgement, and watches as she gasps hugely, her hands flying to her cheeks. Jaemin picks up the Ryan doll, wraps his arms around it.

"I'd like some plain water. Please." he says. "Thanks."

.

.

Donghyuck and Mark’s first visit is not a week after.

Donghyuck wields an enormous sunflower bouquet in a single hand and Mark’s arms cradle these huge slices of shabbily-cut, cling film wrapped watermelon. Jaemin smiles.

They sit by the bed, backs to the door and faces to the open window, a plastic box of cherries tilted haphazardly atop the rumpled bed sheets. The leaves are just starting to bronze, he notes idly. Fall’s amber blanket hasn’t full on settled yet, but it's just the right time of year that brings back a familiar sense of excitement.

It’s only natural, really, that it comes without thinking. “The season’s starting soon.”

He means the winter games season, of course. It’s a passing thought at best, but regardless, the air in the room shifts with a certain apprehension. The other two share a quick, alarmed glance, as if they were planning on spending this entire visit avoiding the topic of the winter games out of courtesy to his injury or something annoyingly considerate like that. Yeah right.

“How’s training going?" He says it real casual on purpose, eyebrows lifting and eyes curious.

“Oh, uh, the team’s really coming together,” Mark recovers first. Next to him, Donghyuck takes a huge bite of watermelon. Juice dribbles down his chin and a drop lands in his lap. Jaemin winces in disapproval. “But yeah, I mean.” Arched eyebrows knit together in thought, and while the words slot together in his head, he reaches over with a thumb to brush the stains of red away from Donghyuck’s mouth. The absentminded tenderness makes Jaemin soft. “We were worried about the new coach, not gonna lie. The members are a given, I think, like it's hard to get a lineup better than this, but the coach and training style would really affect our dynamic, y’know? I’m just really happy everything’s meshing. It’s solid stuff.”

"That's really great," Jaemin says, and he means it. "When're you off to Beijing?"

"Not till February," it's Donghyuck who chimes in this time. "But the local season's starting in October, so we've gotta play a few exhibition matches, things like that."

"Sounds exciting."

"It is." Donghyuck cleans off the watermelon and gets to work wrapping the hard shell back into the cling wrap. "Sucks that you can't go to Beijing, though."

"Hyuck!"

"What? It _does_."

"It really does," Jaemin agrees. He lowers his gaze to the bowl. Takes a cherry, pops it into his mouth and chews mournfully around the pit. This one’s a little sour, but everything in Jaemin's life has been pretty sour lately anyways. “Will be rooting for you guys though."

"Duh." Donghyuck gets up to dump his shell in the bin, disappears into the bathroom to wash his hands. He emerges, looks around the room, points to the forlorn TV attached to the wall. "Is there a remote for that?"

"Don't even try," Jaemin informs him. "The channels on that are trash."

"Oh." He sounds put out. "Sounds like a real paradise. Trash TV, nothing but a switch for gaming and us for company, topped off with Mark's bad cutting skills."

"My cutting skills aren't that bad!"

"Could really be worse," Jaemin says, but he's talking about the room. Mark's cutting skills are horrendous. "And the government's sponsoring, so my parents aren't complaining. It's like, compensation? I guess? For missing the Olympics."

"Nah, it's cuz they can't afford to lose you," Donghyuck says matter-of-factly. "Paying for your rehab and shit. Gotta make sure you're better by next season, y'know? I mean," he throws his hands up. "Who else are they gonna send to the World Cup? The other speed skaters suck."

It's mean, but it makes Jaemin feel better. Mark nods too. "They're sending a few to Beijing," he already knew that. He was supposed to go. "But without you we don't really got a fighting chance for the podium."

"Course they don't," Jaemin huffs. "I'm the best."

They polish off the cherries, and Donghyuck reaches over to collect the empty container. The tips of his fingers are stained red, and Jaemin swats them away. He cleans it up himself.

"Oh yeah. Hyung came by the other day," he remembers. "Said his group wants to come visit."

"Whoa no way, the idol group?"

"Right? I've never even met them."

"That's pretty cool though?"

Jaemin shrugs, and his lower back protests. "It's something to look forward to."

"Aw man," Donghyuck pouts. "Haven't seen Yuta hyung in forever. We'd totally crash, but coach is ramping up our training."

"Don't," Jaemin warns. "They've already got like, nine people. If you guys come it's gonna get hella cramped in here."

"Nine? Try twenty stinky bodies in a locker room."

"Forty," Mark reminds, and Jaemin randomly recalls that he's also the captain of the team heading to Beijing. "If you're sharing with the other team."

Donghyuck shudders with feeling. "Yeughhh."

"But really?" Mark presses. "You've never met them? Thought they had a bunch of concerts recently. NCT right? Saw it on SNS."

"NCT127." Jaemin shakes his head. "And I never went. I was busy training."

"Weren't we all." Donghyuck whips out his phone, no doubt googling 'NCT127'. He scrolls for a minute, pausing and shoving the screen in Jaemin's face. "Think fast! Name."

Jaemin squints at the image. "Taeyong. If not then it's Jaehyun."

"Hopeless," the tanned boy laments. He returns to scrolling.

"Wait, so who was it?"

He's ignored. Another photo. "Name."

Ah, he knows this one. "Jeno."

"My god, what is this favouritism?"

He holds his hands up in defense. "Jeno's easy to spot. He's the hot one."

Donghyuck inspects the photo. "You're not wrong, I suppose," he surmises, and Mark looks affronted.

.

.

The weeks go by, and Jaemin starts to heal. He's started rehab, does gentle pilates with a therapist every few days. The view outside his window changes, leaves fall and turn the ground the color of maple syrup. Jaemin gets regular visits from his parents and coach, works out his training schedule with them, and Minhee is ever hovering, ever fussy but making sure he's well and fed and happy. It's not the worst life.

When he sleeps, he dreams of the ice.

It's a Tuesday, he thinks. His phone chimes, and he picks it up.

Yuta hyung [11:35am]

_Off day tmr. 3pm good w u? Members coming too_

Jaemin consults his schedule.

You [11:37am]

_yeah sure_

You [11:40am]

_oh can u bring me shampoo pls_

You [11:40am]

_the coconut one that I like_

You [11:40am]

_thanks_

Yuta [11:51am]

_K_

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished writing the first chapter and was like wait, this was supposed to be a one shot. And I definitely can't just leave it cuz it was literally 80% world building and 20% plot, plus nomin hasn't even met yet! Like what even.
> 
> to be honest i don't really know what this chapter was, after finishing it I realized it was very stagnant. idk. but hopefully something will change in later chapters, as the story progresses and as nomin actually meet?
> 
> leave me a comment if there's anything you're curious about, I'd love to chat!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this piece was never meant to progress further beyond a oneshot, and with the new knowledge that it had to, I sat down with myself and really thought about the direction I wanted this story to go. I think I have a better idea now, so here's the next chapter!
> 
> Once again, stay healthy and safe everyone!

"We made a bet, when we were young," Yuta's saying. "On who'd become more famous when we grew up."

"That bet is _still ongoing_ ," Jaemin cuts in, rolling his eyes. He turns to his brother, the only blonde amongst the heads of darker browns and reds. His room has never been fuller than it is now, the members of NCT127 sprinkled over the couches and by the walls. "I was supposed to medal in Beijing and steal that place from right under your nose, Mr. Kpop Idol."

"Oh ho, so you admit I'm in the lead."

Jaemin's eyes narrow, and Yuta meets him head-on. Even dares to raise a smug eyebrow. _You wanna challenge that in front of my team?_ Dammit. He just met these people - be nice. "No matter," he changes course smartly. "Just gotta ramp up the golds before next Olympics."

He knows the others are watching their exchange, smiles winningly at them. "No hard feelings, hyungs."

The skinny, dark-haired one by the wall snorts. _Doyoung hyung_ , his brain supplies. Satisfaction wells up at the thought, given that last night after Yuta's text, he'd spent way more time looking up their photos and remembering faces than he'd like to admit. "You guys really _are_ brothers."

"There _is_ a certain blend of savagery and saccharine that only Yuta can pull off," Taeyong concedes, drawing a finger between the brothers. He's in another armchair, legs crossed and chin propped up in a hand. "It's like there's two of him."

"How dare you, I am a delight to be around."

Jeno, who has been quiet this whole time, raises a hand like he's in a classroom. "Uh, I'm not a hyung," he says from his perch on the arm of Yuta's chair, and Jaemin blinks. "We're the same age."

"Oh yeah! He's our maknae. Baby Jeno," Yuta chimes in, and Jaemin brain forgets what he was going to say in in favor of short-circuiting for a beat. _Stupid brain_. He'd seen this coming a mile away.

Okay, so Jaemin has a type, sue him. There's a reason why he'd avoided looking in Jeno's direction after the group burst in with their greetings and well wishes.

Thing is, Jeno's already been christened The Hot One by both him and Donghyuck, so this isn't news to him either. Appreciating photos in his own time, though, is a _vastly_ different ball game from when there's maybe a metre distance between them, and NCT127's maknae is somehow even _more_ handsome in person. _He looks like a sculpture, what the fuck. How is this fair._ The sheer lack of activity that his injury brings is really giving Jaemin too much brain space for other annoying thoughts to just waltz in. Rude.

He blinks again. Jerks his head away. "Oh my god, I almost forgot." he clasps his hands together like an old British lady. "You've gotta take some of those hamper thingies in the corner. Before you go." It's such a legit change of topic, he mentally pats himself on the back.

He's made a habit of it anyway, that whenever people visit to make sure they leave with a goodie bag or two. The bundles are coming in from all over the country, and show no indication of slowing. "Give them to your friends. Your friends' friends. They're free."

"What a salesman," Johnny laughs, and its a nice, warm sound. "Thanks, little man." Johnny's so cool and nice, Jaemin doesn't even get offended.

They chat for a while longer, and after the obligatory _really nice to meet you_ s and _get well soon_ s, each member makes sure to grab a basket on their way out. Their lack of presence makes the room significantly sparse. Jaemin's never been a teams kind of person, professionally or otherwise, but he feels kind of hollow.

He grabs his Ryan plushie, now a permanent fixture on his bed. Shoves his face into it. "Ughhhhhh."

.

.

"I dunno," he's saying, eyes closed. He licks his lips, tastes the cherry lip balm he'd put on in the morning. "How do I put this. Okay, like I know, I _logically_ know, that I'm young, this isn't the end of my life, or career or whatever. I know. But I can't help but feel weak. Like I fucking failed. Oh," He cracks an eye open, raises his head off the couch to glance guiltily at his psychotherapist. "Language. Sorry."

"Go on," the lady says. Her voice is incredibly soothing. She smiles serenely from her spot in her chair, gestures for him to relax. He does, drops his head back onto the pillow and slides his eyes shut. "Let's dig a little deeper. What makes you think you failed, Jaemin?"

He inhales deeply through his nose, mulls it over. The room is void of that antiseptic-y hospital smell, which is a really nice reprieve for him. It makes him look forward to his weekly counseling sessions.

"Like, this season was a huge one, okay. The _Olympics_. I've been looking forward to this for forever." He frowns, a bitter feeling churning in his gut. "I just had to hold out till February. But I couldn't. And now that chance is gone, like, like _poof_ , just like that.

"I'm not even the best yet. In the world," he adds, because he's already best in Korea and he feels the need to clarify that. "There's so much further to go. And everyone's moving forward and I'm lagging behind. It just sucks. It _sucks_. _Ugh_." He's rambling. What was his point again? "Sometimes I think, like, if I wasn't so weak I would've done it."

A pause to make sure he's done talking, and then. "Ahh."

He opens his eyes. Fixates on a bit of paint flaking from the ceiling. "Yeah."

"Close your eyes, close your eyes."

"Right, sorry." Closes them, tries to focus on his breathing like he'd been taught. _In for four counts, out for eight. In, ouuut. In, ouuuuuut._

"You athletes are creatures of habit. Always looking for the negatives, always striving for perfection." Heh. That's a funny phrase. _Creatures of habit_. Makes him sound like an animal. "You hold yourselves to such admirable, insurmountable standards."

"Well, ain't gonna get nowhere," he murmurs. _In, ouuut._ "If you don't."

She hums. "To each their own goals and ambitions. All equally valid."

She pauses to let that sink in, lets the soft classical music in the background play for a bit. The volume is on so low, he barely realized it was there.

"Dealing with setbacks is an important part of attaining success. _Growing_ from setbacks is an important part of attaining success." She speaks with the tone of a midnight radio host, floaty and dreamlike. "You are learning pain, you are learning frustration. Sit with these feelings and acknowledge them. You are evolving."

Vaguely, he thinks, he might have read that in a book somewhere. When the therapist says it, the words make a little more sense.

"In order to forgive, you must learn to be kind to yourself. Open your eyes."

He does, and she gets out of her chair to help him into a sitting position. He's wearing a back brace, so he struggles a little, feeling like a plank of wood.

"This week, I task you to say positive things to yourself. Look in the mirror and tell yourself words of encouragement." She demonstrates, holding her hand in front of her face to replicate the mirror. She checks to make sure Jaemin's watching. "You're doing good," she affirms, voice low to mimic his. Dropping the hand, she turns back to him earnestly. "Look out for your good qualities. You have so many."

She looks so hopeful, Jaemin would feel bad if he didn't do it. "Thanks for the session, seonsaengnim," he says. "I'll, ah. I'll let you know how it goes."

.

.

He swipes a thumb across his phone screen and switches the camera to selfie mode. His face stares back at him, lips turned down and eyebrows furrowed in thought. He brings the phone closer, inspects his face for a bit, ruffles his hair a little. He'd just gotten it trimmed that morning - his fringe was getting in his eyes.

Well. He doesn't look demented, at least. Satisfied, he schools his expression into something less angry looking. _Here goes nothing._

" _Wow_ Jaemin Na, what a badass."

He feels ridiculous. Distantly, he wonders what his life has come to, sitting in bed, unironically talking to himself through his phone camera. But no, no, he reminds himself sternly. Jaemin's never been a quitter and he's not about to start now. Go big or go home, and all that jazz.

He nods, watching his reflection do the same. "Ayy. S'what I'm talking about. You're doing good. You got this. You got this."

He thinks he's getting into it. "Your career's barely started, kid," he scolds, poking the screen. The image goes in and out of focus, the little lighting square going haywire as it appears and reappears on different parts of his face. "You're fucking twenty, for fuck's sake. That's so young?" He shakes his head. "You're gonna get out of this stronger than before, you hear me? Yessiree. Get better, and go show them."

"Hell yeah!"

He flinches, phone falling out of his hand and into his lap.

"What the _fuck_ ," he says with feeling. He snaps his head up, glares at the offender who'd just entered. "Minhee noona."

Minhee has the decency to look a little sheepish as she flounces the rest of the way in. "Aw, I'm _so_ glad you're feeling motivated again," she gushes anyway.

He lets out a long suffering sigh, but he knows that she knows that he doesn't really mean it. Over the two months he'd been here, his constant annoyance at her had morphed into something of a minor chagrin, and her fussing had taken on a more of an overbearing sisterly tone. They now operate comfortably enough, with an undercurrent of snark on Jaemin's part. It's a mutual understanding.

"Oh, anyway! You have a visitor. Should I bring him in?"

Jaemin racks his brain, confused. _The heck?_ He's pretty sure he's not expecting anyone. Everyone he's spoken to had said they couldn't come this week.

If this is a fan, hoping to invade his privacy for a glimpse of him, then he's going to file a complaint.

"Uh, okay," he says warily anyway, because he wants to trust that the hospital's security is better than that.

Minhee nods and heads to the door. "Off to run a few errands, by the way. If you need anything I'm a button press away!"

"Yeah, yeah."

The door slides open and closed, and Jaemin checks his phone again to see if anyone had texted him about a last minute visit. Dammit, he's gonna feel bad if he missed something.

Nothing comes up, and he's even more confused.

"Uh, hi."

Jaemin looks, and he must be out to set a world record or something because it's the second time in two minutes that he's dropped his phone.

_It's Jeno, what the fuck. Why the fuck is he here._

Jeno shuffles from the doorway in tiny steps and stops an awkward distance away from the bed. He's in an orange hoodie and dark blue jeans, mask and cap crumpled haphazardly in one hand and a paper bag in the other. His hair is dark and unstyled, bangs falling across his forehead, and this image of Jeno is so _different_ from the Jeno he knows from photocards and albums that Jaemin literally feels himself getting mental whiplash.

Jeno shifts on his feet nervously. "Hi," he says again. "It's Jeno."

"Jeno," he blurts, way too loudly and a second too late. He's very, very taken aback. "Hi."

They just kind of look at each other for a moment, and then Jeno seems to remember something. He holds out the paper bag he brought. "These are for you." Jaemin looks at the bag. It's very unassuming, a brown paper bag with no label to indicate its contents. "They're cookies. Matcha. My mom made them."

Jaemin loves matcha. It's his favorite flavor. “Oh my god. Thank you so much." He doesn't know what to say. "That’s so - that's really sweet of you. I love matcha.”

This whole interaction is very surreal.

He watches as Jeno comes up to pass him the bag, and Jaemin opens it to peer inside. He can see them, little bite-sized cookies stacked neatly in a tupperware box. They smell delicious. Jaemin's heart melts, he's so touched. "Oh, wow. Thank you," he says again, and he hopes his sincerity comes through in his tone. "You didn't have to."

"No, no, I wanted to. I hope you like them." Jeno scoots back so there's a respectable distance between them. He fidgets with his cap, twisting it between his fingers. He licks his lips before speaking, and Jaemin follows the motion with his eyes.

"You didn't really seem to like me when I visited with the hyungs," he admits. "I thought... I thought I mustn't have made a very good impression on you."

 _What,_ Jaemin's mind supplies unhelpfully, but Jeno carries on.

"I'm super sorry if I did something to offend you," he says, handsome features arranged into a worried expression. "I swear I didn't mean it! But if it's okay with you, I'd really like to be friends. I don't have - uh, I don't really know anyone else my age, so I was really excited when Yuta hyung said we were going to visit you."

 _Wait, what?_ "Oh god," it dawns on him. Was Jaemin really too preoccupied with his gay panic to even realize that he was acting rude? How much more of a self-absorbed dick could he be? "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. You didn't - _no_. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Oh? Oh." Jeno's face relaxes into a relieved smile, and his eyes go into these really pretty crescents. Jaemin thinks he might be fucked. "Okay. That's a relief." He sways back and forth on his feet. "Let's be friends then?"

"Friends," Jaemin breathes. "Yeah, that'd be. That'd be really nice."

Ten minutes later, the two of them are munching on cookies and exchanging little tidbits about their lives. Jaemin gushes over the baked goods and Jeno beams from the armchair that Yuta always occupies when he comes over.

"These are so good," he says for the third time. "I haven't had refined sugar since I got admitted here. Ugh, this is like, an oasis in the bland desert that is hospital food."

"What," Jeno's mouth makes an o shape. "Seriously?"

Jaemin nods. "It's a sports hospital," he says by way of explanation. He makes a face. "Plus a lot of the athletes here are in the professional circuits. It's like, their job to keep us on super strict diets while we recover. So they just don't serve sweet things here at all. Tragic, I know."

"Oh no," Jeno's eyes get wide. "Am I breaking rules by bringing these here?"

Jaemin waves a dismissive hand. "Nahh, you're good." He grabs another cookie, brandishes it around like it's the gold medal he won at last year's Nationals. "Lucky for you, I was gifted with god-tier metabolism." He points it at Jeno and winks, because they're friends now and Jaemin is allowed to do stuff like that without it being weird.

Jeno tilts his head in thought.

"So I can bring you sweet things when I come visit?" He surmises, and Jaemin lights up, because not only does Jeno want to come back, but he'll come back to visit multiple times? With food? He hasn't done anything to deserve this, but he _definitely_ isn't complaining.

"Yes! I'd love that! You aren't busy though?"

The idol shakes his head. "It's chill. We've already wrapped up promotions, plus we just had a tour, so our break's a little longer this time."

"Mmm. I see. You guys deserve it. When's it till?"

"To be honest, I don't know?" Jeno laughs, embarrassed, and it's a little wheezy _huhhuhhuh_ sound. Jaemin thinks it's adorable. "The agency'll call us back when we have to start preparing for a comeback again. Till then, we're pretty free to do what we want."

"Makes sense." Jaemin looks around the room. Faces his palms up in a _ta-dah_ gesture. "I'll be here."

Jeno ends up staying till the evening, and neither bothers to switch the lights on, the glow from outside casting pretty shadows onto their skin. Jaemin glances out the window, at the rapidly retreating sun, then at Jeno's hoodie-clad form.

The other boy follows his gaze, catches his worried glance. "Yeah," he says, reluctantly moving to stand up. He uses his hands to push his knees as he does so, like a grandpa. "I should head. I'll be back though."

"I'll hold you to that." Another glance outside, then a "you don't want to borrow a coat? It'll get cold soon."

"I'll be okay. Thanks though.

Jaemin isn't gonna push it. "Make sure to take a hamper on your way out."

Jeno grabs one at random. "I'll be back," he insists, like Jaemin needs convincing.

"Okay," he smiles. Raises his hand in a wave. "Be safe, Jeno."

When the door slides shut behind him, Jaemin's left wondering if the whole episode really happened.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will NOT be this regular from here on out, just saying :')) I had a free weekend and had time to brainstorm, so I kind of know where I want to take this, but I've still yet to flesh out lots of stuff! 
> 
> In any case, thanks so so much for the support so far, and I'm a whore for comments so pls leave one if you have the time!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off, thank you all for your comments on the previous chapters, it's so heartening too read them all and see that people are liking this story!
> 
> here's the next chapter, and it's a tad shorter. honestly I was stuck on it for a while and feel it's still only ok, but I kept on re reading it and my mind was like you know what, it ain't gonna magically better itself. So here it is? 
> 
> stay healthy and safe everyone!

Donghyuck throws his head back in a loud cackle. The sound blasts from his phone speakers, and Jaemin hastily turns the volume down. _For god's sake_.

"Wait - wait, _hah_ , so let me get this straight," the boy on his phone screen snorts. Jaemin sighs loudly through his nose.

"The - that _poor boy,_ was so excited that he'd found a same-aged buddy," Donghyuck clasps his hands in a horrendous mimic of Jeno. " _Aw man! I'm so excited, I'm gonna make a friend -_ "

Jaemin rolls his eyes to the ceiling. "First off, he sounds _nothing_ like that--"

"--Only for said buddy to treat him like _trash_ at their first meeting." Donghyuck has a shit-eating grin on his face. He shakes his head in mild disbelief. "And then he came back, with _cookies_ , to apologize to the dick that treated him bad in the first place? Even though nothing was his fault?"

"You're literally repeating what I _just said_ ," Jaemin scowls. "Also, they were homemade cookies." Because that's an important detail.

"Homemade cookies," Donghyuck repeats. "You know what this sounds like? This is totally the start of a shitty rom-com."

"You suck," Jaemin retorts on autopilot. Then he thinks it over and scrunches his nose, because there's a part of him that kind of wants it to be. But at the same time another big enough part of him doesn't, because Jeno's a genuinely nice guy and is so excited to just be his friend and Jaemin really wants to be that for him. Also Jeno's an idol and he was never ever meant to be something in Jaemin's life beyond a pretty face he swooned over on his phone and in album photobooks, but he suddenly _is._ And Jaemin is more than a little confused right now.

Ugh, these things are so complicated.

While he's struggling to put all that into words, Mark tilts his head into frame, Donghyuck adjusting the angle so they're both amply captured. Mark's wearing his silver-rimmed spectacles that make him look like a nerd, but Jaemin knows for a fact that he hasn't touched a book in five years. "Which one is this again?"

"Jeno."

“The hot one,” Donghyuck adds helpfully.

“That’s the one,” Jaemin says, and Mark lets out a snort.

"Are you guys still on about that?"

"Aw Markles," Donghyuck coos, and Jaemin watches with disgust as he turns his head to plant a kiss on Mark's cheek. Mark's frown softens. "You know I like you best."

"Hey," Jaemin complains, snapping his fingers in front of the camera. "Back on track. We're talking about me here."

Donghyuck leans into Mark, rests his head on a shoulder. He makes a face, one of those cute-ugly ones where his eyes cross and his mouth stretches into an exaggerated grimace. "Fine," he says. "So you like a guy. Go for him, or whatever." He shrugs his free shoulder, like it's a no brainer.

Jaemin feels an oncoming headache. "Were you not listening to anything I said? He said he wants to be _friends_. And I want to be that for him."

Mark blinks owlishly behind his glasses. "So... be friends," he says slowly, like he doesn't understand the problem. Donghyuck holds up a hand under Mark's chin, as if to say _there we go_.

"You're both _useless_ ," Jaemin hisses, rubbing a temple with his fingers. "Of course I'm gonna be his damn friend. But he's so nice and gentlemanly and handsome and," he pauses briefly, pursing his lips. "And I see myself liking him. I see it, okay? And I don't wanna..." he trails off with a _tsk_. He waves a hand, trying to find the words.

"Considering everything, like _everything_ , I just don't think I should go for him, y'know. You get me?"

"Oh-kay, imma stop you right there." Donghyuck straightens with a small frown. He squints at Jaemin through the call. "Don't think you should? No matter what, there's no _should_ or _shouldn't_ , Nana. There are no rules to this. You do what you want."

Jaemin thinks about it. "Like how Mark went for you even though you were teammates?"

They both grin at that, from the other end of the line. They look so domestic and happy, hair freshly washed and in their pajamas, and Jaemin feels faintly stupid for even asking.

"But y'know," Mark cuts in, after a comfortable silence. He looks thoughtful. "I think you're worrying a little too much. You just met the dude." He adjusts his glasses, like a professor, and they glint with the reflection of their laptop screen.

"So you see yourself liking him. Hasn't even happened yet, right?" He shrugs. "So for now, I mean, just be his friend. Ain't nothing wrong with that."

Huh. He has a point.

.

.

Jaemin's got a standing calendar on his bedside table, one that he's taken a liking to crossing the days off of as he goes by. He's aware that it's the literal saddest thing a person can do to feel the time passing, but it makes him feel a little better every time he crosses a day off and he _knows_ he's a day closer to having some kind of normalcy in his life again. Skating. Training. _Walking on the street_ , for god's sake.

He uses a black pen to make another X on the calendar and caps it. Stares at the ink for a few seconds. Flips through, looking for the day he's marked boldly as the date of his discharge and counts backwards.

He's still got a whole four months left.

"Fuckin hell," he says aloud. Chucks aside the calendar and tries to go to sleep.

The next day his schedule tells him he's got to go for counseling with the seonsaengnim, so he goes. It's as standard a session as he expects, with the couch and the smell and the soothing voice of the therapist, and he's given another exercise for the week that sounds questionable but he knows he's gonna do anyway. Same old, same old.

"Thanks for today."

The lady smiles. "You're very welcome. Your recovery is coming along very nicely," she adds, and she sounds almost impressed. Jaemin has no clue what she's so impressed about. He's just been doing everything he was told to do, and it's working very well, but that's kind of the whole reason why he's here.

He decides to humor her anyway. "I mean, I'd hope so." He rubs an eye with the palm of his hand. "Can't help but feel stagnant though. I dunno. Like I need to be doing more."

"You're a high-functioning character," seonsaengnim agrees. "Most patients here are. A lot of them don't know how to control it. They'd overcompensate with the rehab, for example. They just end up hurting themselves all over again." She shakes her head disapprovingly. "Usually I'd recommend them pick up a new skill with all the free time they have. Give their minds something to focus on. Would that interest you?"

A new skill. Jaemin's never given this sort of thing much thought - he just never had the time. Granted, he's never had the time for anything other than skating. It does interest him. "Like what?"

"Could be anything. Online courses, an instrument, maybe even a language? The possibilities are endless."

He nods slowly, an idea forming in his head. It makes sense. If he's going to be cooped up inside with all this free time, he might as well have something else come out of it.

"I _have_ always wanted to learn English," he says.

.

.

"Okay, listen to this." Jaemin clears his throat, lifts a hand like he's an actor in a play. _"I can do - I can do dis by myserf."_

Jeno waits, patient.

"It means 'I can do this by myself.'"

"Oooh."

Jaemin grins, proud. "I've got all these apps downloaded," he reveals, pulling out his phone. He opens one, shows Jeno the interface. The other boy leans over to see, shaking his bangs out of the way as they fall over his glasses. "There're all the useful vocab and stuff here," he scrolls a little, trying to navigate it. "And you can see how they put them into sentences."

He clicks on a sentence, holding the device up as the automated voice relays the pronunciation in English. "Cool, huh!"

"Very cool." Jaemin checks, and Jeno's smiling, so it must mean he's not being bored out of his mind. Jaemin beams, takes it as a sign to continue.

"I've also been watching these YouTube clips," he rambles, putting the phone away. "They teach you stuff like how to do the 'rr' and 'rrrr' sound. Wait, what." They sound the same.

Jeno laughs, and Jaemin just kind of stops everything to watch. _Just be his friend_ , Mark's voice says in his head. Right, right.

"I think it's super cool that you're doing this," Jeno says, grabbing the untouched tupperware container that sits between them. It’s got banana bread in this time, cut into neat slices. He extends it to Jaemin in a reminder to eat. "The English thing, I mean."

Jaemin gratefully breaks off a piece to munch. It's really good. He thinks it's got cinnamon in it. "You think?"

"Yeah!" The container returns it to its spot on the sheets. "Y'know, it's like... like. You're not letting all this -" he makes vague swirling gestures to the room at large, but Jaemin knows what he means, "- bring you down. And you're even using the time to learn new things." He pauses. "I'm not expressing it well."

Jaemin shoves the rest of the bread slice into his mouth and chews, like he hadn't spent the last few weeks tearing his hair out over just that.

"But bottom line is I think it's great. I think _you're_ great."

Jaemin starts, expecting some kind of talk about putting his time to good use, blah de blah, and he's really heard all this stuff before but he was definitely not expecting _that_. Jeno thinks he's great? He has ascended to new heights.

"Oh god, you're so _nice_?" he blurts on instinct, and he doesn't know what he's done to warrant all this praise. Is Jeno just a gentleman by default? That must be it. "Why're you so nice."

"It's true though."

Thing is, it's not, and he's comfortable enough talking about it now. Doesn't like to give himself credit where it isn't due, and all that. "As great as it is to have you think that of me," he smiles crookedly. Shrugs. "But nah, I'm gonna be real with you. You should've seen me in the beginning." He tries to remember. Seems like he's been here a million years. "I was a _real_ train wreck, you don't even know. Still kinda am."

There's a small silence.

"Okay, well," Jeno shifts in his chair. Lifts his chin and raises his eyebrows at him, and it should _not_ be as hot as it is. "I'm gonna be real with _you_. Yuta hyung said you would be."

Jaemin blinks, because he doesn't quite follow. "What?"

"That first day." Jeno clarifies. "Before we came. He said you were depressed about being hospitalized. We get it, getting injured, we're idols, y'know? But for you it must've been a thousand times worse." He pauses to think, jaw clenching and unclenching. Horridly distracting. "Like. Like, I don't know what I expected. A sad person, maybe? An angry person? I dunno. We were all worried."

Jaemin doesn't say anything, watches as Jeno looks at him. And okay, he hasn't seen Jeno much, like at all, but it's the first time he's seeing Jeno like _this_. He looks determined to prove a point, if anything. "And then we met you. And I remember seeing you and you were all normal, cracking jokes with the hyungs. Making promises about racking up the gold medals, like it was no big deal." He smiles faintly at the memory. "I remember thinking, like, 'wow, this guy's a real champion.'"

Jaemin's first thought is that he's super flattered. No one has ever said that to him, ever. He's also pretty sure his face flushes. He can feel it. His second thought is that he doesn't know what to say.

He tries to argue. For argument's sake. "You don't have to mean that shit. You know that, right?"

"But you _did_ ," Jeno says, and he looks a little exasperated. It's kind of funny, but it's also super endearing. "Okay, maybe you were just saying it, in that moment. But you're proving it right now, aren't you? You're here, in front of me, determined to get better and you're fighting for it."

Jaemin doesn't immediately retort back. Something must show on his face though, some doubt or the beginnings of an argument or whatever, because Jeno takes one look at his expression and rolls his eyes.

"I think you're really amazing, Jaemin. Just take the compliment, will you."

Seongsaengnim's words are floating around at the back of his mind. _Look out for your good qualities._ She'd definitely said something like that. Yeah. _We don't self deprecate._ Right. _We don't do that anymore._

"Okay."

"Good," Jeno says, and Jaemin turns to look at him. Runs his eyes over the sharp features. The high bridge of his nose, the jawline, the lines of his neck just before they disappear into the high collar of his black sweater. Jeno's smiling a little, the edges of his lips curled up in satisfaction.

Shit, he's staring. He drops his gaze down, and they land on the abandoned container of banana bread. He's not really feeling it, but he takes another piece, just to have something to do.

In the corner of his vision, Jeno slumps back into his soft armchair as the adrenaline drains out of him. Jaemin munches, and they stay like that for a while.

"Kinda crazy," Jeno says, first to break the silence. "It's Na Jaemin in the flesh."

Jaemin laughs at that one. "The heck. Could say the same about you."

Something shifts in the air. It's a subtle shift, one that he really couldn't describe if someone asked him to, but it makes Jaemin feel more relaxed, and a little safer.

When Jeno leaves that day, Jaemin feels lighter than he's felt in a long time.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIDIN & ROLLIN OH YEAH


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!! hope you're all keeping happy and healthy and safe <3 
> 
> I just want to say I'm so floored by all the love this fic is getting, thank you thank you for all your lovely comments T.T 
> 
> I've been busy with work lately so i haven't been able to spend much time on my passions & hobbies, and this fic is definitely one of them. But I'll occasionally see in my email that I have a comment, and I'd read it, and though sometimes I can't reply right away, it's just so so heartwarming to know that people read this, find joy (even if it's just a little!) from it and bother to even write a comment!!! That just blows me away, like thank you for using your precious time to do so, it means more than you know. 
> 
> Anyway here's a new chapter :) please enjoy and have a great week ahead!

A week passes, then two, and they're supremely uneventful weeks compared to what Jaemin'd been doing exactly a year ago. It's still a wild thought, like, after going at literal breakneck speed his whole life, he'd come to a screeching halt and started moving again at a snail's pace.

Winter's fast approaching too. Bit-by-bit, the cold crawls in through the cracks between the windows and settles deeper into his bones. Jaemin doesn't mind - he's always liked winter and the temperature that came with it. Would always get excited around this time because it meant competition season. This year he feels it in his veins again even though he can't compete, because two and a half months of routine doesn't just change the twenty years before that.

But with that said, he finds that a lot of things _have_ changed, though. Like the fact that he zones out a lot more than he used to. Like now. He's doing it again.

He zones back in. _Ah_. Yuta's managed to find the remote.

In a rare spectacle, the whole family is gathered in Jaemin's room. His mom and dad have successfully rearranged their chairs to a kind of neither-here-nor-there configuration where they can see the TV screen but are still not completely facing away from him. Yuta's flopped into his usual spot, scarf removed and thrown over the hospital bed, right onto Jaemin's legs, and the latter uses his feet to shimmy it aside.

Over the months, his hospital room has begun to look pretty lived-in. He's got more clothes in the wardrobe and plushies scattered around, and his parents bring more of his belongings over whenever they can. With his family in it too, his room's almost homey. It's nice.

The wall-mounted TV has actually been switched on for the second time ever, and Yuta's located the sports channel. The definition isn't horrible, which is a nice surprise. Jaemin counts it as a win.

"We're right on time."

The camera pans across a wide shot of Gangneung Hockey Centre. The stadium is packed and deafening as always whenever there's a game, and the rink looks kind of like a white puddle in the middle of it all. He sees the players on the ice, milling around and getting used to the rink, but at this distance they look like ants.

They all watch as the ants start lining up in two neat rows, team against team. The camera finally cuts to a close-up angle.

"Those are the national team jerseys?" his mom asks.

"The white ones, yeah."

"Ooh." She leans forward, no doubt inspecting them. "They're pretty."

They are. They've got the South Korean flag on and everything, player numbers boldly printed on their sleeves and backs. Jaemin spots Mark easily, at the head of the line with all his extra gear on. Donghyuck's a little further down, eyes narrowed and smile sharp.

"Mark's the captain?" Yuta points the remote at the TV, upping the volume.

"Yep," Jaemin says, popping the p. He nods to the screen, where said boy's profile and stats have come up. The announcer's voiceover comes on, calls him captain, hypes him up. The usual. "He was scouted for the team really early. The first one? I think he said."

"Kid's a good player, obvious choice," his dad chips in. "Nice boy, too. How's he doin'?"

"He's good," Jaemin replies automatically. "Hyuck too. They came around here a few times." Motions to the TV. "They're busy now though. So, yeah."

"They must be real excited for Beijing."

Donghyuck's stats flash onscreen, and Jaemin glues his eyes to the numbers. "Yep. They are," he hums, after a short pause, and in his peripheral he can see Yuta give him a sideways glance.

They watch the match. Donghyuck darts about the ice like a hummingbird, sliding in between bulky players and making such daring plays that Jaemin holds his breath despite having seen him play a million times before. Mark stays hunched in front of the goal and somehow still manages to move like lightning even though he's got about a hundred different bulky pads strapped to his body.

"So what happens if they lose?" Yuta asks out of the blue. Mark blocks a goal, shoots the puck back clear across the rink. "Does the winning team replace them or something?"

"They don't lose," Jaemin replies without much thought, because stupid question. They don't lose. Not nationally anyway. "It'd be hella embarrassing."

"Course they don't. I'm just sayin'."

Jaemin shrugs after a pause, because they shouldn't, but who's he to say? He really doesn't know much about team sports. "Ask Mark."

"Ugh," Yuta rolls his eyes like a diva. Jaemin knows he's just doing it for show. "Useless."

"What? Like I don't have my own _entire_ sport to - "

" _Boys_ ," comes their mom's pointed tone, and they both shut up. Jaemin makes a face, leaning back against his pillows. On TV, the National team scores a goal, and the crowd goes wild.

Yuta leans over to plop the remote down. "The heck's this?"

He's grabbing a box off the bedside table. It's Jeno's latest gift from when he came over the weekend before, and they hadn't managed to finish the pastries before he left, so he'd kept them.

"Shortbread," he recalls. He also recalls never having told Yuta anything about Jeno's visits, so he decides not to mention it unless he has to. "Earl grey."

Yuta pops the lid open, sticking his nose into the box and sniffing tentatively at the cookies, like they might be poisoned or something. "They definitely look homemade," he says, and Jaemin can't tell if he means that as an insult or a compliment. "Who'd you get 'em from? Your nurse lady?"

So _that_ resolution took less than five seconds to go down the drain. He's not gonna flat out lie to Yuta. He doesn't feel like keeping it a secret either, so he goes with the next best option, which is to let slip as casually as he can. "Nah. Jeno came to visit. He brought 'em over."

Yuta pauses in replacing the tupperware lid. His head tilts a little, like he might've heard wrong. "Who? Did you just say Jeno?"

Jaemin makes a non-committal hum.

"Wait, like my Jeno?" His brother's dark eyebrows raise so high, they disappear behind his platinum bangs. "NCT127's Jeno?"

"I mean. Yeah? How many Jenos do you think I know?"

"Right, you don't have friends," Yuta doesn't miss a beat, and Jaemin scowls. "But like. Like. O--kay?" His brother's expression is a weird mix of curious and perplexed, and a bunch of other stuff that Jaemin can't name. "Random, but sure. Jeno. Why not."

The TV flares up with noise again, and Jaemin realizes he'd forgotten to watch the game. He checks and points are 3-0 in favor of the National team, though, so it's all going fine.

"That means Jeno made these?" Yuta pops the lid back open, grabs a shortbread cookie and shoves it into his mouth, like he wasn't just eyeing them suspiciously five seconds before. Jaemin claims one for himself, and Yuta gets up to offer some to their parents. "Jeno made these," Yuta tells them. Underneath the lingering confusion, he somehow manages to sound like a proud mom.

"Well, he _brought_ them," Jaemin says when Yuta gets back. "I dunno about _made_ , though. He said his mom helped?"

Yuta grabs another cookie. "Mm'kay. But, like _why_ though?" He bites into it and chews messily. Some crumbs escape and fall into his lap, and Jaemin watches with muted annoyance. "Not that I'm upset or whatever. I'm not. But like, when'd this even start?"

Jaemin thinks back. "After that first time, when y'alls came," he says. "I mean, he doesn't have same-aged friends, I don't have same-aged friends." Because details aside, that's pretty much what it is, right? He shrugs for good measure, like it should be obvious. "So. We're same-aged friends now."

"Brat didn't tell me anything?"

Jaemin makes a face. "Like he had to. Hyung, you're getting crumbs _everywhere_."

He's ignored. "Anyone else visit that I should know about?"

"Nah."

Yuta hums, seemingly unfazed. "Just making sure."

Jaemin rolls his eyes, because he can tell his brother's actually put out from not knowing. Not that anything was a secret, in any case. "The heck's that supposed to mean?"

Yuta shakes his head. "That boy is the sweetest thing on the planet," he says instead, in a tone that's clearly intended to be stern but doesn't quite make it there. Jaemin raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "Don't mess him up."

"I am. Literally your brother," Jaemin replies, just to be obnoxious, because Yuta's right. Jaemin doesn't know very many people, but out of the handful of friends he's ever made, Jeno's easily the sweetest. "You should be telling _him_ not to mess _me_ up."

Yuta shoots him a look then, and Jaemin quiets down.

The National team wins with a score of 5-0. Jaemin has no clue how strong the other team is, so he can't tell how big of an accomplishment it was to beat them by that much.

He grabs his phone. Swipes to open the camera app and prods Yuta in the shoulder with it till he turns. He waves his parents over, and they all gather round the bed. "Selfie for Mark and Hyuck."

Five selfies are taken, and Jaemin picks one to send into their little group chat with a _good job!!! family says hi_ and a few choice emojis. On impulse, he also sends the image to Jeno. Yuta doesn't notice.

"That was fun," their mom declares, and the males all make varying noises of agreement. "Let's do this again soon!"

Their dad nods. "Lotta games this season."

"Yes, lots of games this season. And you," she points to Yuta, "you've got to let us know your schedule, young man."

"I'll make it."

"Let us know your _schedule_."

"Yeah okay, okay. I'll text it in the group chat."

"And you all know where to find me," Jaemin chimes in unhelpfully. "Y'know. Here."

They're piling the layers on, preparing for the trip home. Yuta's wrapping a long scarf round his neck, and Jaemin's staring off into space, not thinking of anything in particular.

"Johnny knows English," Yuta suddenly says to him. Jaemin startles a little, and Yuta repeats himself. "I could bring him over. If you want. He owes me one anyway."

Jaemin follows Yuta's gaze, sees the English textbook he'd been going over on the table. _Johnny hyung's the friendly giant,_ he remembers. Having someone to practice with _would_ be really helpful. But Johnny's a hyung, and Jaemin doesn't want another tutor when he's got helpers left right and center for everything else. English is _his_. And in a weird way, he wants to struggle with it first.

"Mark knows English. I'll ask him." He probably won't, because Mark's busy and Jaemin doesn't really want to anyway, but he says it just because. "And don't use the favor on me. I don't wanna owe you one."

Yuta smiles crookedly at that. Shakes his head. "Smart kid."

.

.

After that, Jaemin keeps the TV on more often. The winter games have started in earnest, so there's finally something to watch. He watches the hockey matches, and the curling sometimes, and the figure skating always, because he loves the way they jump and spin. He tried copying them, just once when he was seven and stupid. It didn't end very well.

His phone buzzes and he scoops it up distractedly. Checks the caller ID and smiles.

"Heya."

"So guess who just got an earful from Yuta hyung about visiting you behind his back." Jeno doesn't sound angry, just amused.

"Seriously?"

"Said not to mess you up," there's a chuckle from the other end of the line. A small pause, but there's a bit of background noise on Jeno's end that fills the silence, wind crackling the speakers and traffic in the distance. "You don't think I'm messing you up, right?"

"I hope you're not actually _listening_ to that." Jaemin sinks back into his pillows, grabs the remote and turns the volume down a few notches. "But yeah, funny story. He told me the same thing, which makes more sense, cuz _that's_ a legit concern."

"S'not," Jeno says, and Jaemin can picture his expression, the furrow of his eyebrows and pout on his lips. "But even if it was. He's not like, my _mom_. Or my, what're those called? My, my _keeper_ or something."

"True that," Jaemin laughs. He tries for a pacifying tone. "He just wants to be included."

Jeno snickers, and it's half drowned out by the shuffling of his movements and the static noises that phones make when you shift around too much, but Jaemin hears it all the same. "What're you doing now?"

"Like, right now?" He looks around, to the TV with the sports channel still on. "Watching TV, I guess," he says. "In my room. Shocking, I know. But the TV isn't as trash as I thought."

"So you're not busy?"

"Nah. Training's in the mornings, so." He trails off. "Kinda like school, now that I think about it."

"Oh ok, nice. That's good." Jeno pauses after that, and it sounds like he wants to say more, so Jaemin waits. "Yeah. I brought you something."

"Huh? Brought me -" and then it clicks. Using his free hand to support his weight, Jaemin pushes himself off the pillows as fast as he can. Which isn't fast, but his body's adapted to accommodating his injury, and with it comes moving like a grandpa. "Wait a minute. Wait a minute."

But then he hears it, the shuffling of someone in the hallway, and then his door's being slid open, and then Jeno's already rounding the corner, big smile on his face and cheeks flushed from the cold, and Jaemin melts, phone to his ear and bedhead and all. It's so weird, because they were just talking on the phone, but somehow seeing Jeno in the flesh adds a fresh bout of charm to it all again.

Jeno pants a little, juts a thumb out behind him. The other four fingers are clutched tightly around his phone.

"I took the stairs." He slumps against the doorframe and shucks off his beanie. "Didn't wanna, like. Break the connection."

Jaemin feels himself grinning, half in happiness he thinks, and half in disbelief. "Jeno," he says, but the end of his sentence lilts up a little, makes it sound like a question. Probably because he's so surprised. He takes his phone away from his ear, taps the red 'end call' button. He can't decide on what to say first. He settles for a "the heck."

Jeno makes his way over in long strides, stands by Jaemin's bed. He looks so boyish, with his smile and his pink nose and his appearance a little disheveled from rushing up the stairs. "Hi."

He then turns to rummage a little in the bag he's got slung over his other shoulder, and Jaemin is mystified. "I didn't really prepare anything this time," he says sheepishly, and to that Jaemin absently thinks, _but you did_.

Out come two small, brown paper bags, and Jeno offers one to him. "For you." He nods to the window, to the outside. "I got this from one of the street stalls. Down the road." Jaemin takes it, and Jeno's hand flies to scratch the back of his head. "I was passing by, so I thought why not, y'know?"

Jaemin peers inside, and there's a roasted sweet potato. It's still faintly warm, and Jaemin cups the bag with his hands. He feels so cared for.

"Wow," he says. He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly conscious of how messy he must look. "Wow, thank you." He looks up, trails Jeno's figure with his eyes as the other boy shuffles his way around the bed to the comfiest armchair. "I feel like I'm only receiving stuff from you."

He phrased that badly. Jeno pauses, coat halfway off, and Jaemin backpedals. "Not that it doesn't make me happy! Cuz it does. I'm always super happy when you bring me food." He glances down at the potato with a hint of guilt in his gut. "But like, I realized I'm always the one receiving. Like this. I'm not doing anything for you. And that's so... like, that's not fair. Right?"

Jeno frowns. He takes his time to remove his layers, throws his scarf and coat over the back of the armchair, and falls back into it. "Uh, no," he says, like it's obvious. "Don't think like that. I mean, I do all this because I want to." He starts munching on his sweet potato.

Jaemin watches his jaw move. He isn't convinced, but he agrees just to agree. "Okay."

"S'true." Jeno continues, probably reading Jaemin's expression or something. "You're giving me your company, and your friendship, and I'm really, really happy with that." Jeno looks at him, and he's trying to make a stern face, Jaemin can tell. "So don't think that you need to... get me stuff, or return the favor, or whatever. Really. Don't think like that. Okay?"

"If you say so."

"I'm serious."

" _Okay_." Jaemin pulls the potato out of the bag and takes a bite, something to keep himself busy. It's really good. "Anyway. You said you were passing by?"

Jeno narrows his eyes a little, can tell Jaemin's changing the subject, but he plays along. "Yeah," he relents. "I was in the area. Thought I'd surprise you. A hundred percent spontaneous decision, I swear."

"And you just bypassed security?"

"Minhee-noona knows me by now," Jeno shrugs very matter-of-fact. He tilts his head to recall. "I saw her at the reception and she seemed really happy to just let me walk in."

"Oh right, I forgot, Mr. Idol." Jaemin rolls his eyes for show. "Making the hospital staff fall for your charms."

"Yeah, right." Jeno matches it with his own. "Idols ain't nothing special, y'know."

Jaemin's a little surprised by that. "Seem plenty special to me."

"Nah." He shakes his head, scrunches his nose. It's cute. "There are thousands of us. Hundreds of groups." He stuffs the rest of his potato into his mouth and chews, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, and uses the pause to fold his empty paper bag up into a small square. "I'm just one of them. But s'just the truth of it. Nothing more nothing less, y'know."

Jaemin disagrees. "Must really be something special, to be seen amongst the thousands."

Jeno's lips pull into a smile. "Are you really giving me a motivational talk after I did it that last time?"

"Clearly." He waves his hands with a flourish, paper bag and half-eaten potato and all. "Gotta one up you somehow."

"Oh, so it's a competition now."

Jaemin smiles, teeth bared. " _Everything's_ a competition, my dear Jeno."

He tries not to think about the fact that he just said the words _my dear Jeno_ out loud. Good god.

Jeno laughs then, and runs his free hand through his dark hair. It looks soft, and Jaemin absentmindedly wonders what it feels like. "Of course it is."

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STAY HEALTHY AND HAPPY AND SAFE <3


End file.
